Solemnly Swear
by TheNextFolchart
Summary: You feel warm. You feel as if you are glowing.


**Solemnly Swear**

 _For Ellen, with all of my love xoxo_

* * *

You fade into consciousness a little at a time, and then all at once.

"Is it working?" you hear a voice ask from the foggy space above you.

"I'm not sure," says a different voice—this one a little deeper, a little more masculine.

"Prongs, give it here." A third voice, now, and you start to make out images through the fog . . . a head of long, shaggy hair . . . a pointed nose . . .

There is a breeze of cold air as you are passed into a pair of warm hands.

" _Lumos._ "

A bright light—blinding—and you are awake.

"How do we test it?" asks one of the boys, and you have never seen this boy before you you know that there are four of them and they have magic and they call themselves Marauders. You have shivered in and out of consciousness for the past seven months while they created you, never quite awake enough to focus, but now you are here with Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, and you _tingle_ with an energy you've never felt before.

"I think it's—look!" One of the boys jabs his finger against you. "There's Longbottom, in the library!"

"And there's Evans." Another boy, this one with dark, messy hair, yanks you from the first boy's hands. "Patrolling the corridors. Bless her soul, she's such a good little Prefect."

You start to experiment, flexing your paper-thin muscles as you explore your surface. Tiny pinpricks of electricity work their way all over you, and when the boy says _Evans_ you feel a particular inch of your body (can you even call it a body?) becomes pleasantly warm.

"Find Dumbledore, find Dumbledore!" One of the boys is bouncing on his bed. The _Headmaster's Office_ portion of your essence heats up.

"It works." One boy claps his hands. "Padfoot, it works!"

"Find us." This boy is pale, with a long, thin nose and light eyes, and you feel oddly safe when you are passed into his hands. "Map, where are Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter?"

You feel warm. You feel as if you are glowing.

The boys gasp in delight. "We've done it, gentlemen," says the one with the long hair. "The Marauders Map. We've just changed the game."

"Mischief managed," says the pale one, and without intending to, you fade into sleep.

* * *

"…swear that I am up to no good!"

It's like a magic word. You wake instantly, pinpricks of tingling energy spreading over your face. You've grown used to this sensation over the past three years—you've come to enjoy it. Being awoken with those words means it's time to see your friends.

"Where's Filch?" asks the one you've come to know as Padfoot.

You focus until you find the pinprick labeled _Argus Filch_. You allow him to warm.

"Here," says the one called Prongs. "By the east staircase."

Padfoot swears. "What's he doing there?"

You have never met this Filch man. You have only met your marauders.

"If we go to the fourth floor and circle around here, we'll miss him," says Prongs. He traces his finger over you. You shudder a little at the scrape of his fingernail, bitten ragged.

"You don't think he'll intercept us?" It's Moony chiming in. His pale face comes into view, eyes tight with concern.

"Filch isn't that smart." Prongs folds you up into quarters. "I'll get the Cloak and we'll meet back here in the common room in five minutes. Mischief Managed."

You sleep.

* * *

When you wake the next time, it is not in the hands of your marauders.

"…what does Filch bloody expect us to do when he catches us up after hours, solemnly swear that we are up to no good? Of course we're going to deny everything!"

It's an unfamiliar voice, but the magic words work the same way, and you spring into consciousness only to be faced with an identical pair of freckled faces.

"Wait a 'mo, Fred, it's doing something."

Fred. You scan your surface until you find the pair of footprints that belong to that name.

"It's—hang on, what's it doing? Is that _us?_ "

You look around. The scene is the same: the Gryffindor common room. But the boys….

"It's a map!" The one called Fred looks excited. "It's got all the towers, all the stairways—is that a _secret passage_?"

"Ron, Harry, Ginny, Dumbledore—everyone's there. Look! Cho Chang is in the library with Cedric Diggory. Bit late to be studying, don't you think?"

You search for your friends.

Peter Pettigrew is asleep upstairs, but the rest are nowhere to be found. Perhaps they are in Hogsmeade, you decide, or perhaps they've stepped…

"Our mischief will so much easier to manage with this…."

You fade.

* * *

It is years before you wake up in the hands of your marauders again. You are passed from Weasley to Potter to Snape to Crouch, and before you get the chance to know any of them, you are put back to sleep. No longer do you exist for midnight adventures. You have become a tool. You have become an _object._

(You know, deep within yourself, that you have always been an object.)

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

You open your eyes.

You freeze.

Moony peers down at you—Moony, with a few more wrinkles and a few more dark circles under his eyes, but Moony all the same.

"Hello, old friend," he whispers, and you suddenly feel warm all over. "It has been some time, hasn't it."

He traces you with his fingers, and you tingle harder than you have in years. You call your attention to Peter, asleep in the dormitory as always. _Look,_ you wish you could say. _Wormtail is here. We're only missing Padfoot and Prongs. We can be a family again._

Moony's face falls as he sees the warmth you try to radiate. "It can't be."

 _It can, it can, it can be again…._

"Pettigrew," he whispers. "I thought—we all thought—"

 _I missed you so very much._

Moony gently folds you.

 _Wait—no—don't put me away—I solemnly swear that I—_

"Mischief managed."

You fade before you even get to say goodbye.

* * *

 _Quidditch League, Finals Round 2_

 _Holyhead Harpies, Seeker_

 _Prompt: write from the POV of the Marauders Map_

 _Word Count (MacBook Pages): 1025_


End file.
